


told my love to run (so we'd both be free)

by chatonnerie



Series: The Hanging Tree [3]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Blood, M/M, Minor Character Death, Some not good times underwater, TW:, They love each other, Time for the Finale, Torture, WangXian, mild torture but it's still there, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 02:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatonnerie/pseuds/chatonnerie
Summary: Three Tributes remaining.The Nights are getting longer.The Water is rising.The gamemasters are preparing their Finale.And neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji can afford to lose.





	told my love to run (so we'd both be free)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: this is going to be a nice 7K to finish up this mini series  
Me, 15K+ words later: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> Here it is! The end!  
Honestly never thought I'd end up writing this so really, truly thank you so much to everyone who supported this series!!  
This is all for you!
> 
> Title comes from the song 'The Hanging Tree' from the Hunger Games series (trifecta baby)
> 
> Once again, this series was inspired by an ask on @lansizhuis tumblr (https://lansizhuis.tumblr.com/post/187788508725/because-ive-fallen-back-into-the-hunger-games-i)
> 
> Enjoy!!

It was still raining.

Wei Wuxian gazed out from the hole in their cave, before wearily leveraging the boulder back into place.

“The days are getting shorter, aren’t they?” he groaned, dragging fingers through his hair, feeling the knots and not giving a fuck.

“Mm.”

“You’d think they’d be trying to chase us out by now, but who the fuck wants to leave whilst it’s raining?” He absently kicked the nearest wall, “Isn’t two whole ass days of rain a bit ridiculous? Are we going to have to wait a third?!”

“It can’t be helped.”

He groaned, before trekking back over to the small encampment he and Lan Zhan had been steadily building over the what, four? five days? they’d been in here. His companion was waiting for him, idly re-plaiting his long lengths of hair, the black ends pooling across his lap like silk. Wei Wuxian just groaned as he slumped down beside him, habitually pressing up against the warm side. Lan Zhan shifted slightly, lifting up his arm so Wei Wuxian could duck under it, hugging that steady body as Lan Zhan simply settled his arm back down and resumed his plaiting.

(He still remembered the long nights in the Capital, those first days in the arena, when the absence of anything familiar and comforting had kept him up for hours, hands clenched like iron around his small bell.

Lan Zhan figured it out of course, and hadn’t that been a victory, getting the touch averse teen to sleep alongside him, just to ensure Wei Wuxian was getting more than an hour of shallow sleep each night)

“How’s the leg?” he asked shuffling a bit to examine it himself.

“Fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” he rolled his head up and pouted up at his companion, “Like, fine as in you can walk without it hurting, or fine as in you could jump two metres, catch me in your arms and not break or sweat, or fine as in _not _fine but your pride’s acting up and you won’t admit to it?”

Lan Zhan sent him a very long look.

“Fine.”

“Aiyah! Use more words, Lan Zhan! Words!”

“. . . It is fine.”

He let out another groan, slipping down so that his head was resting against his companion’s leg, and rolling onto his back to glare up. “Bully Lan Zhan.”

Gusu’s Tribute didn’t noticeably react but there was a warm light in his eyes that Wei Wuxian might have dared to describe as _fond_.

“Head up.”

“Hmm~? What’s that supposed to mean Lan Zhan?” he tilted his head sideways, grinning, “Which head and where is up?”

Lan Zhan huffed, tying off his own plait and moving those elegant fingers to drag them through Wei Wuxian’s matted nest.

“I will redo it.”

“Good luck with that,” Nevertheless, he rolled over onto his stomach, arms folded over Lan Zhan’s legs, and he couldn’t stop his eyes fluttering shut as those fingers pulled hypnotically against his scalp, picking at the worst of the snarls and deftly drawing it all back up into a ponytail, “Aiyah~ Lan Zhan is truly the best at this~”

“I thought your sister was.”

“Shijie is the best at braids,” he corrected happily, “but Lan Zhan’s lap is the most desirable spot to be.”

Those fingers stilled for a moment, before continuing their relaxing work.

“. . . Wei Ying . . .”

“What’s up?”

“Did . . . that night, did I . . .?”

Wei Ying felt himself huff at the stumble, knowing exactly what question was lying behind it. “Once again, Lan Zhan, you didn’t mortify yourself once you were drunk.”

Well, aside from the whole intent-on-gift-giving thing, and the cuddle bug he picked up, but he was positive Lan Zhan had enough face to be able to see that without being too dark about not being told. It wasn’t like he’d admitted anything _that _important, no matter what he seemed to think.

“Why are you so worried, anyway?” he drawled, “Does Lan Zhan have some deep dark secrets you couldn’t bear to have revealed on TV?”

“. . . not dark.”

“It’s stupid just saying it-! Wait, you do?!”

Lan Zhan gave a single nod, staring at him, “Though it is . . . a good secret.”

“A good secret?” he frowned, “How does that work? Like a surprise?”

“. . . Mm.”

He blinked, before chuckling, reaching up to poke Lan Zhan’s cheek, “A surprise huh, what sort of surprise? Is it a party? A birthday? Ah! _My _birthday?”

Lan Zhan just blinked, reaching up to catch the poking hand, “If I tell, it is no longer a surprise.”

He blinked, and then his mouth dropped.

What? Had Lan Zhan _not _taken the bait?

“Who are you and what have you done with my angry, flustered Lan Zhan?” he demanded, trying to get free from the hands holding his and Lan Zhan just pulled them around in an embrace.

“I’m here.”

“Ah, I see, I see. Very good, Lan Zhan. This one forgives you.”

Lan Zhan just huffed, softly, inspecting Wei Wuxian’s look, before reaching down and freeing some of Wei Wuxian’s side bangs out of the hair tie. Wei Wuxian blinked as his wiry hair bounced around his face, whilst Lan Zhan just gave a small satisfied nod.

“Ah, what’s up with that, Lan Zhan?”

“Looks more like Wei Ying.”

He huffed, sitting up in Lan Zhan’s lap and draping his arms over those well-toned shoulders.

(At the beginning of the games, he would have stiffened, or straight up shoved him off. Now Lan Zhan’s wonderful tolerance for the amount of Cling that Wei Wuxian needed allowed him to remain perfectly still as Wei Wuxian perched in his lap.)

“Of course, it looks like me. Only I can look like me.”

Lan Zhan blinked and then nodded in simple acquiesce.

“So what now? Spend another night here? I could teach you how to do a Yunmeng braid, oh, what if we finished the wine-!”

“Wei Ying.”

He stilled at the suddenly serious tone. Lan Zhan’s gaze was directed past him and he slid down off the lap, twisting to stare down at the pool.

The pool that was noticeably higher than it had been for the past few days.

“. . . The rainwater is flooding through the above caverns,” he realised, immediately moving to a crouch, “which means we’re about to get two days of rain coming in.”

“The cave will flood.”

“Undoubtedly. How’s the leg?”

“Fine.”

“Pfft. And _Bichen_?”

Lan Zhan turned to him, hands moving to the bone-white sheath.

“You wish to track down Wen Chao?”

(He’d told Lan Zhan, the morning after The Drunken Experience, of the Jin boy’s face on the midnight death card, the frustratingly tiny ‘shot’ next to his name)

“If we leave the cave,” he pointed out, “it’s dumb to think they won’t try to lead us together.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze dropped to his sword, reaching out and partially drawing out the meticulously well-kept blade.

But instead of answering, he simply blinked, tilting his head.

“Just now . . .”

“What’s up?”

“The rain stopped.”

Wei Wuxian paused, closing his eyes to focus on his hearing.

Sure enough, the ongoing taps against the outside, so old now that they’d become white noise, had stopped.

He huffed.

“Well. That’s that then. It’s time to go.”

They bid their refuge a final farewell around sunset - and the gamemasters had to be getting impatient because, in all honesty, it had barely felt like the afternoon, but the sun was already setting, and if the bad weather returned, Wei Wuxian didn’t fancy trying to see, let alone fight, through the rain _and _the night.

“We’ll head to the Cornucopia,” he spoke aloud, as Lan Zhan leveraging the boulder free, “hopefully we can use the tracker there to find Wen Chao’s base.”

“Mm.”

It rolled open with the grinding of stone, and they watched as a small puddle of water came pouring in, flowing along the natural dip of the cave towards the Xuanwu’s pool. The crisp smell of rain flooded in after it, but thankfully, that was the limit.

Lan Zhan hefted his sword, “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, no point waiting around.”

The sky was turning golden as they emerged, continuing up the path without a backwards glance. The small inlet beside them had been completely subsumed by the river, hungry waters lapping right up near the cave’s entrance, swollen from the rain and cavern drainage. There were several routes back up to the Cornucopia, the fastest being the long open path that ran adjacent the river itself, before breaking into smaller paths, and finally the caverns and tunnels.

They had both agreed to move in the open, for speed, visibility and to avoid the chance of finding an underground route completely caved in from all the water passing through it.

It didn’t make him anymore comfortable though, moving completely exposed. The last time he’d taken this route had been different, sprinting back up the quickest route with desperate urgency. But now, trudging along at a sustainable speed, the sound of their two sets of boots thumping against the rain-soaked dirt beneath? He couldn’t help but feel like a mouse out of his burrow, all too visible to the vultures above.

“Wei Ying.”

“Mm?”

Lan Zhan took a moment to pause, staring at him, “It will be okay.”

He blinked, before grinning, fondness creeping in, “Yeah, of course it will be. We’re together this time, aren’t we?”

Lan Zhan gave him a single nod, before setting off again, visibly pleased. Wei Wuxian had to resist the urge to chuckle, taking off with a bounce and beaming as he fell in step beside his partner.

They continued on for an hour, the gold sky now interwoven with the first threads of darkness, visibility beginning to lessen and Wei Wuxian’s attention turned to his ears.

Here, the path began to rise steeper, the ravine beginning to drop lower beside them, before it would eventually lead them completely back into the upper gorges.

And, even if white water was expected, it still seemed awfully loud in the growing dark.

Slowly, his walking speed began to die down, as he turned to squint at choppy river vanishing into the dark beside them.

Or at least, it should be. It didn’t seem to have dropped at all.

“Hey, Lan Zhan . . .”

“What?”

Wei Wuxian just gazed at the white water swirling and billowing along beside them, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve told you about Lotus Pier, yeah? How we get wet and dry seasons?”

“Yes.”

“We’re quite swampy - so the water just goes up and down. But Gusu is mostly canal towns built over the rivers, right?”

“Right,” Lan Zhan, ever so carefully, straightened up the straps of his pack, “why?”

“What were to happen if a sudden amount of water was added - like, all at once?”

He saw the moment in clicked, those golden eyes widening to turn to the river beside them, the water slowly building and breaking more aggressively, as if the current had just built more power.

“. . . Flash flood.”

They both shared a look, turned, and sprinted up the nearest open route. They had barely been running for more than five minutes when something roared behind them, only building in fervour with each foot against step, each pant of breath.

it was only _two _minutes when something crashed behind them.

“How fast does this sort of thing move?!” He yelled into the dusk wind.

“Fast enough.”

He swore, glancing around, eyeing the myriad of honeycomb cave gateways that would be nothing more than traps for them to drown in, their only visible route right now simply being to take the straight path back up.

Three hours to the Cornucopia. But if the whole river had begun to burst . . .

“Lan Zhan!” he roared, “Change of plans! North! We need to get away as fast as possible, and the Cornucopia’s just as likely to have flooded!”

“Mm, this way.”

Lan Zhan didn’t hesitate with each major split in the path, immense red stone cleaving the paths in half, simply picking the route and tugging Wei Wuxian along beside him. Not for the first time, he thanked the genes that gifted his partner with a nigh perfect spatial memory.

Something roared behind him and he swallowed.

He didn’t have time to hesitate though, as the whole canyon _shook _beneath them, the deluge slamming into the canyon walls and sending tremors all the way up to meet them.

They both split apart as a boulder fell, falling back in step beside each other on the other side.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian called, deadly serious, as they passed through the long stone corridor, two tiny ants outrunning the water behind them, “if one of us gets hit, the other _doesn’t _stop.”

Lan Zhan veritably twirled around the next boulder to slam down, every movement controlled and graceful.

“Then don’t get hit.”

He barked a laugh and just pushed himself faster, throwing his body sideways to dodge the next one, loose gravel biting his ankles as the huge stone slammed into the ground, shattering it on impact.

“Wei Ying!”

“What?”

“Higher route.”

He followed Lan Zhan’s finger, spying the small footpath cut into the stone, about three minutes ahead on the route. It hugged the edge of the canyon, almost four metres up, cutting into the cliff to lead up to the plateaus stretching out above them.

Behind them, the flood announced its latest turn with another canyon shaking crash.

“All right, we don’t have time to climb. I’ll give you a boost.” he decided, dodging another falling boulder and Lan Zhan almost stumbled.

“No. I’ll boost-”

“You’ve got a higher jump than I do. Not to mention, if either of us needs to run, it shouldn’t be the one with a recently fucked up leg.”

“But-!”

“You get high, scope out the situation, see where the flood hasn’t reached. Then come back, throw a rope and haul me up.”

Lan Zhan didn’t have time to argue before it was above them. He skidded to a stop, got directly under it and crouched with his hands held out. For a moment, it looked like his partner would argue, so he grinned.

“Besides, I’m the best in water, aren’t I?”

It didn’t do anything to improve the dark frown on Lan Zhan’s face.

But it did motivate him to charge right at him. In a deft movement, he stepped onto Wei Wuxian’s cupped hands and the Yunmeng Tribute _hurled _them up.

Lan Zhan sailed through the air with all the grace of divine being, clearing the jump almost too easily, catching the footpath’s edge and deftly hauling himself up to safety.

He didn’t allow himself any longer to look. He just turned and _fucking booked it_.

That wave was definitely coming.

Okay. Breathe. Don’t panic. Panic and Anger where the two greatest ways to get fucking mutilated, as Madam Yu had always been fond of drilling into the pair of them growing up.

(Not that his little brother had ever internalised the ‘_don’t_’ be angry bit, he sighed wearily)

He was not outrunning this wave. It wasn’t a simple flood, wasn’t just water rising up until nothing remained, because this was the Games and the Capital needed to have something to put them on the edge of their seats, so he could make a reasonable approximation that the monstrosity coming behind him was much more akin to a directed tsunami then a flood.

What did you do in the face of tsunamis again?

(How was he supposed to know??? All he’d done growing up was earn money giving tourists from the Capital tours around Yunmeng’s hills, played with his siblings in the Pier and illegally shot down pheasants for food when Peacekeepers weren’t watching. No tsunamis!!!)

Don’t panic.

Don’t panic.

_Don’t fucking panic oh shit it was close behind him_-

He almost turned back. Almost tipped his head over, to see the thing he could hear bearing down on him, but he didn’t, he kept ahead, he kept running through the burning in his lungs and the lead in his calves and the spots in his vision as

Cave. _Cave_. Not really a cave, but a small shallow bit of rock jutting out defiantly against the flat edge of the cliff wall but it would _do_.

(Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go.)

Fingers clamped into the stone as he ducked behind cover, hauling out a wire and knotting it around the rocks and his hands.

He’d barely gripped skin against metal before the small shield of stone was slammed by the wave. He inhaled just as the water gushed straight around the edges, gravity soon overpowering the momentum to bring the water curling around the edge, slamming into his sides and head, cold and powerful and feeling like Lan Zhan’s punches magnified to fifty. His head pounded from the sudden pressure, only matched by the searing pain biting into his hand, but he clung on grimly, as the mightiest of the force swept over his head, holding until he could hold no longer.

He honestly tried, when he let go. He knew where up was, hadn’t been thrown asunder upon the wave meeting him, but his body sure as hell didn’t seem too keen on getting closer. Despite the time of day, despite there still being the last of the day’s light, the water was murky, dark, nigh impossible to see through and he clawed desperately through the currents. He wasn’t scared about needing air, because you didn’t win breath holding competitions in Lotus Pier by hanging in the towel early, but he still needed the _surface._

A boulder appeared right before him from the dark surroundings, and he barely dodged the stone being pulled along in the furious current, wincing as it knocked his foot enough to send him spinning.

His body wanted to keep spinning, to give in to the current, to just stop-

_No._

Right way up. Surface was there. _Swim_.

He was a good swimmer. Maybe not as good as Jiang born-and-bred-in-the-Pier Cheng, but he was _one _of the best.

He did not feel like a good swimmer right now.

(He actually sort of felt like he was drowning.)

Oh fuck.

(Fuck.)

No, he refused to die in _fucking water_, this was his _home ground,_even if he was used to swimming in calm lagoons and lotus filled lakes, not black currents filled with gravel and boulders and scrub and all the dead bugs the flood has picked up in its maddened rush through the canyons. He just needed to find the surface, needs to ignore the burn beginning to needle his lungs, the sting of various debris bursting past him. Too dark to see, too fast to dodge.

Surface.

Surface.

(Air.)

Where was the surface?

(He needed air.)

It was there, but it was too far, and the water was clutching him like cold dead hands and _he needed air_.

Something grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged him up.

He broke surface with a maddened gasp, scrabbling for Lan Zhan’s arm, the other struggling to stay aloft, one hand clenched white in Wei Wuxian’s jacket, the other gripping the long rope he had dropped down from presumably an overhang, dangling above the rising waters.

“Wei Ying!”

The voice broke through his stupor and he nodded, teeth chattering, as he reached heavy fingers up, draping them around Lan Zhan’s neck and holding tight. Lan Zhan released his jacket as he did so, reaching up to hold the rope with both hands, uncaring as it swayed in the elements. He waited until Wei Ying was safely wrapped around his neck, fingers tightly clenched together, and body hanging limp like a bedraggled backpack, before he began hauling them up, hand over hand, piece by piece, not a word of complaint about the added weight. The dark churning waters beneath them shrieked and spat at their ankles with each wave that crashed against the side of the canyon.

(Lan Zhan was so warm~)

He snuggled into the other body as closely as he could, even when Lan Zhan let go of the rope with one hand to cling to the upper ledge, pulling up enough for Wei Wuxian to grab on and clamber up his partner, reaching down with blue fingers to help up Lan Zhan once he’d gotten both feet back on the ground.

It was dangerous to stay still in the arena, but both of them just collapsed onto the flat stone, panting, one dripping water all over the ground, the other covered in sweat.

“Nice save?”

Lan Zhan backhanded his arm.

His responding chuckle was interrupted by a cough and he rolled over onto his elbows, tears in his eyes as he threw up what should definitely be about a litre of rainwater, river water and canyon.

Hands were at his shoulder, rubbing his back and he slumped into the body, shoulders heaving from exertion.

“Let’s . . . not do that again.” He managed to get out, groaning, a bit too strained to be joking as he swallowed against his ragged throat.

A water bottle was pressed into his hands and he barely got out the thanks, taking grateful sips of the lukewarm, plastic tasting water.

When he glanced over, Lan Zhan just nodded.

“Mm. Wei Ying is not naturally buoyant.”

He chuckled, a bit bitter, as he just nuzzled further into that warm embrace, firm arms holding together his shuddering frame.

“Gods, if I get _swimming_-related trauma from the Games, that’s where I’m drawing the line. I can’t be in Yunmeng and NOT swim! Absolute blasphemy.”

Lan Zhan huffed, the little thing that sounded like a scold, but was really more of an ‘I’m-very-fond-of-you-but-I’m-too-proud-to-display-it’ sort of huff. He just grinned, moving his arms up and around Lan Zhan’s shoulders.

“So? What did you find?”

“. . . The water has not stopped rising.”

He grew sombre, turning to inspect the edge of the plateau, and the drop leading to the flooded canyons below. The steady flow of water did seem much less aggressive from above (though he didn’t feel any need to jump in again to test it) and it was certainly higher than it had been when Lan Zhan hauled him out.

“It hasn’t, huh?”

“And the source is in the arena.”

“. . . What?”

Lan Zhan just pointed, and Wei Wuxian turned, eyes wide.

The north-west had always been the tallest part of the arena, the most distinct, able to touch the clouds and been seen from all parts of the huge canyon labyrinth. 

No. It wasn’t touching the clouds.

“Well, damn,” he slumped, fixated on the rain clouds floating out from the peak, moving over the arena and just raining wherever the gamemasters saw fit to leave them.

“The water will reach us eventually - and we will have no option but to remain afloat.” Lan Zhan verbalised it and he nodded.

“It must be some sort of rain factory- I’m guessing unless we feel like drifting in the middle of an unending plane of water, we’ll need to turn it off.”

“The flooding affects all the arena,” Lan Zhan pointed out, solemn as always. “All the Tributes.”

He just nodded.

“Well, I thought it was about time the gamemasters shoved us all together.”

He could say that they made the trip in good time, striding across the grand plateau that was the tops of the canyon’s walls, unhesitant in their effort to walk right towards the gamemasters’ trap.

But they didn’t do that.

The huge canyons couldn’t be crossed so they had to take the winding route, following along where the paths underneath were tiny enough that one could jump from plateau to plateau, the various rain clouds passing around and occasionally drenching them according to the gamemasters’ whims. None of it was particularly conducive to a quick trip, the two painstakingly working their way across the arena, boots skidding on the wet ground more than once.

Ahead, the highest cliff loomed ever closer.

Around them, the water rose ever closer.

So close, in fact, that after the sun had fully set and the stars had come out, the surface began to lap the edges of the plateaus, the canyons now completely submerged, the full moon reflecting off the rippling water. It wasn’t as aggressive as before, but it wasn’t stopping, lapping waves licking their ankles each time they moved higher and higher.

Twenty minutes out from the peak, they were forced to wade, water clinging to their shin, swimming across the gaps.

Most concerning of all, they were completely alone, nothing but two figures wading towards their goal, nothing behind them but a vast expanse of water.

No cannon though.

“Where is he?” Wei Wuxian broke through the sound of their splashing knees, pausing on the last plateau before the soaring peak.

This close, he could see a small, mostly submerged platform across the gap, stone stairs hewn into the cliff itself, leading up and away from edge, end unable to be discerned in the dark.

Lan Zhan just shook his head, as they both sank down and stroked across the gap. They both had distinct styles of swimming, Lan Zhan’s being formal and trained to prevent drowning in Gusu’s canals, whereas Wei Wuxian’s was fluid and barely trained, built by years upon years of simply swimming around Lotus Pier in favour of finding a boat.

Now, the two just dragged their bodies through, tugging on the other when one began to slump, limbs dragging through the water. Wei Wuxian huffed as he stood up, stretching out legs and arms stiff with fatigue.

Lan Zhan just held a palm over his eyes to shield the rain now coming down from above, gaze sweeping what had become a watery plane, far as the eye could see, every stope, every gorge, every cliff face, completely submerged.

“. . . Ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian toed at one of the steps leading up, “it rises about two steps worth in that time. Guess that means we should get a move on.”

He gave a weary groan, leaning against the cliff, still popping out stiff muscles, when Lan Zhan caught his arm, twirled it over his own head and hoisted Wei Wuxian up onto his back.

He yelped, but the other Tribute just began walking up the steps, movement as serene as ever, even with his human backpack.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, this is quite unnecessary. I can walk. I am sprightly - energy is my middle name. You should put me down, in fact, you should be resting your leg-”

“Wei Ying is tired.” Lan Zhan interrupted him, and Wei Wuxian struggled not to snigger at how many of his bad habits Lan Zhan had picked up over their time together, “It is nothing.”

“. . . Do I weigh anything to you?”

“No.”

He snorted, tilting his gaze up towards what the steps led too.

What lay before them wasn’t exactly a cave.

Two immense stone doors had been carved into the side of the stone, intricate and familiar engravings decorating the full expanse of the cliff face, all leading down towards a large key lot right before them. Lan Zhan held still as Wei Wuxian slid off and retrieved the sword they’d found in the Xuanwu’s cave from the taller’s backpack, hefting it up to plunge it in.

The overly ornate weapon slid in perfectly, only the hilt extending out, and he stepped back to let Lan Zhan twist it in a brisk movement. As soon as it clicked, 90o to the right, the doors groaned, and the hilt slid in fully. They both stood back, hands up to block the rain, as the two doors ground open. Switching on their torches, they ventured in.

What lay within was clearly meant to be an ancient temple, carved out from the cliff itself, symbols decorating the walls and floors, a single corridor leading off with others splitting off and grotesque figures dancing along the walls, reminiscent of the stone statues Wei Wuxian had not so nicely broken on Day 1.

Every step they made splashed, water dripping through the cracks in the ceiling, pooling across the floor and reflecting their torch light in disjointed arcs.

A beeping drew their attention, and they both glanced down to the tracker clipped to Lan Zhan’s belt. The Tribute quickly pulled it out and gave the corridor a scan.

“. . . He passed through.”

“When?”

“Some time in the past forty minutes.”

“And if the rain hasn’t stopped, then he’s definitely lying in wait for us,” he trailed fingers along one of his arrows, “I’m going to be pretty useless in these tight corridors. So I’ll be relying on you to protect this fragile archer~”

“Mm. Let’s keep moving.”

They continued along, the temple growing colder the further away they drew from the entrance. Eventually, the path forked, splitting into two routes.

They glanced at the tracker.

“Left.”

“What’s it picking up on anyway?”

“Blood.”

Wei Wuxian frowned.

“It can’t be an injury from his fight with Lanling . . . was he injured on the way in?”

“Wen Chao was already in the north - he likely was less affected by the flooding than us.”

“So maybe he got injured in here . . .” they headed left, Lan Zhan leading and Wei Wuxian slowly circling around as he walked, scanning the temple walls - the scenes of the figures, the shape of the engravings, the places where it met the floor.

He sharply inhaled, and shoved Lan Zhan forward. The other just stumbled forward in surprise, glancing back to see Wei Wuxian had snatched his hands back.

Between them, iron spikes had shot up out of the ground and blocked the passageway.

“Because of course there’s traps.” He sighed, glancing beyond the iron bars now keeping them separated. “Can you break them?”

Lan Zhan frowned, took a stance, and struck.

They didn’t budge.

“. . . Unlikely.”

“Yeah, no real surprise there,” he sighed, folding his hands behind head, “these aren’t actually ancient ruins - they’ll be nice and new and reinforced.”

“Wait there.” Lan Zhan glanced around, staring at the walls contemplatively. Wei Wuxian eyed him for a moment, before coming to a decision.

“No, you go on ahead. I’ll turn back and take the right passage.”

Lan Zhan turned to glower at him, and he waved at the tracker. “You find him before he hides and takes us out - your close combat is leagues better than mine anyway.

“We are both vulnerable to ambush split apart.”

“And with that door open, the water’s going to come flooding in eventually,” he pointed out, “I’ll look for whatever mechanism’s keeping it working. Who knows? The path split apart, but then it might link up on the other side - better than wasting time trying to get through something the gamemasters don’t want us too.”

Lan Zhan frowned, still visibly displeased, “You have a knife?”

“Mm. It’s in my boot.”

“If it is a dead end, we meet back here.”

“Yes, yes,” he grinned, “so cautious, Lan Zhan~”

Lan Zhan just visibly stewed, jaw clenching and unclenching, “Don’t die.”

He blinked. “Yeah, you too.”

“Be _careful.”_

“I will be.” He waved, turning back up the corridor, “See you on the other side, Lan Zhan!”

He didn’t waste time dallying, aware it probably would convince him to stay and break through anyway, just trotted back off down the corridor, keeping his attention on the carvings.

As he ventured off down to the right, he spotted the familiar designs and swiftly rolled forward, just as spikes shot up behind him to bar him in.

He kicked them absently. Well, that was that - the gamemasters wanted them heading down separate paths.

In an attempt not to visibly show his frustration, he just turned, and began skipping down the path, humming.

The rooms peeling off from this path, all on the right side, were no longer more corridors, but actual chambers, full of elaborate statues and several working mechanisms. He inspected a couple, but all of them seemed to run with pipes in and out from the walls. Additions, not the CPU of whatever was making the rain. He tried about five rooms, found all the same things, before eventually heading straight down. He would have thought he could have heard someone walking around him, steps revealed by the water coating the floor and unable to imitate his offbeat skipping, but it sounded like he was completely alone.

Sighing, he picked up his pace.

That meant that, in all likelihood, the mechanism was in Lan Zhan’s path and Wen Chao was probably lurking around it. The thought of Lan Zhan being alone made him go even faster, actively trotting through the long stone corridor.

And then it opened up.

He blinked, jumping a bit to kill his momentum, as his boots slid over the wet stone, to find a huge entrance chamber with another pair of doors, identical to the ones they’d entered through, spread open before him

(Wen Chao’s entry point, no doubt)

And there were about five other routes peeling off.

He sighed, scratching his nose, before retrieving the dagger out of his boot.

He spent a few minutes humming, carving a lotus into the path he’d come out from, before turning and venturing down the one right next to his own.

He only got a few metres down, before doubting.

Unlike his own, this one was a long path, no offshoots, no other corridors - likely the space between the two paths they’d taken. So, Lan Zhan’s one was likely the next one over.

Sighing, he turned and headed back out to try the next corridor.

_“-ah!”_

He froze. No. Impossible. He shook himself immediately. Frazzled nerves would help no one.

_“Ah! AGH AH!”_

He glanced over his shoulder and swallowed.

The long, straight corridor loomed, travelling far enough that he couldn’t see the end.

“. . . Lan Zhan?”

“_WEI YING! It’s-GAH!”_

Panic set it like a haze, and he turned and sprinted through the contorted temple halls, feet splashing against the water-soaked ground with each step. The closer he drew, the louder Lan Zhan’s cries became, and his heart pounded.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, what’s wrong?! I’m coming, hold on!!”

Lan Zhan didn’t respond, just kept screaming, louder and louder and it was wrong wrong wrong.

The end of the corridor was an immense, ornate archway and he burst into a huge chamber, carved totems ringing the room and an immense monument composed of stacked wheels, rotating with the grind of stone against stone, right in the centre. It soared up to the ceiling, which opened up to the night sky above, rain tinkling in through the open.

There was no Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan?” he demanded, glancing around fervently, “Lan Zhan?!”

_“Wei Ying!!”_

He narrowed in, dashed over to the far side of the room, around the huge central monument and-

A bird was perched on a totem, with pitch black feathers and a white crest.

It let out another perfectly engineered wail.

_A jabberjay._

The implications didn’t seek in quick enough to fully dodge the man slamming him straight into the grinding stone cogs. Wen Chao just straightened up, petting the muttation with a manic grin as Wei Wuxian swore, twisting his head to see his long black tresses entangled in the gears, his pack partially eaten by the mechanisms, already feeling the beginnings of an insistent tugging against his scalp.

In a moment of pure, manic urgency, he crouched down, snatched up the hunting knife from his boot and sliced up where the pressure on his scalp was. His hair cut off in a sodden snap and he rolled forward, abandoning his pack and jacket already caught in the cogs, a decent chunk of the right side of his hair falling down to unevenly frame his ear.

A metre away, his bow clattered to the ground. The string, neatly severed into two, fluttered to the ground.

(Wen Chao was still here.)

He acted on impulse, grabbing the now useless quiver and chucking it straight at the man lunging for him. Wen Chao jumped back with a yell and he leapt to his feet, lone knife in hand, entire body hunched and wary.

(He wasn’t good with knives, never had been, Lan Zhan was the one good with blades, where was he_, where was he_)

“Cute little thing, that,” he jutted a chin at the still screaming jabber jay, “mind shutting it the fuck up?”

“Cute little thing?” Wen Chao just laughed.

Wei Wuxian watched as he nonchalantly backhanded the little bird into the nearest wall, hollow bones splintering and the dreadful sounds silencing in a mess of mangled feathers.

(It barely made a splash when it hit the ground)

Wen Chao just sneered, and he brought the knife arm back up defensively (when had he dropped it?)

“There’s two of them, you know,” he jutted his head towards the other end of the temple, “I bet the gamemasters had fun, editing up your screams.”

He paused, straightening.

(Two.)

“I almost ran into him, right after I planted the other one,” Wen Chao grinned, “fucking hell, your boyfriend’s an undaunted bastard, isn’t he? Thought it’d take him at least a few more minutes to track it down.”

Wei Wuxian scoffed.

“Yeah, who’s boyfriend? Lan Zhan’s meticulous - of course he went to check it out. But how did _you _avoid the scanner?”

“You forget who it was meant for,” was his smug reply, “of course, a kid like you couldn’t outwit a Wen with his own tech.”

Wei Wuxian just grinned with all his teeth because that sure as fuck didn’t answer anything. “So now what then? We’ll see if I can stab you before you shoot me?”

Wen Chao just smiled condescendingly, chin in the air.

“Oh, don’t be so arrogant. You can’t get out of this one, little Wei Ying~”

A totem behind them crashed and he dove on instinct, barely missing the dagger flung through the air, clattering harmlessly. Behind the fallen totem, the elaborate timing mechanism apart fell apart, the substituted trebuchet now free from its hidden burden. He swallowed and slowly glanced around at all the totems surrounding them, all framed by the rotating mechanism that had crushed his abandoned belongings into paper.

“I was _so _upset, you know!” he turned back, entire body tensed, trying to keep the hand holding the dagger from shaking, “I thought, my package would be something _good_. A man’s tool. Instead, I got two shrieking little feathery shits in a box. You wanna know _why_, Wei Wuxian, you wanna know _why_?”

He backed up, apprehensive, eyes tracking everything Wen Chao was doing.

His voice was high pitched, petulant yet hysterical, tilted with all the kinds of mania that made Wei Wuxian want to bolt to safety. 

“I said, _do you want to know why Wei Wuxian?!?”_

Another totem fell and he dodged, a bladed sickle he swore had belonged to the Meishan girl flying past his neck and taking off the last of the longer hair strands on his right side.

Wen Chao just giggled, fingers running over the gun handle holstered against his side.

“Birds. Two dumb little birds. What I needed most? Not a tool. Not a weapon. Not a proper gun that didn’t curve half the shots that came out!” his fingers went white around the gun’s handle, yanking it free, “no, _no_, no, what I needed, needed ‘more than anything!’ was a way to fucking separate _you two_!”

Wei Wuxian dashed sideways as the gun whipped up, firing with a crack of gunpowder, sparks reflected across the reflections from the water as the bullet collided with stone, and he dove forward, dagger extended.

Easily, too easily, Wen Chao caught his wrist and the butt of the gun slammed into his skull. He fell back with a gasp, dazed, as his ass hit the ground, somehow rolling back up whilst panting heavily.

He couldn’t recover in time to avoid the kick against his backside, sending him sprawling against the water-logged floor.

(“Don’t _ever _engage the Careers in close combat,” Madam Yu had poked his chest, eyes narrowed and right in his face, “don’t try to be arrogant, Wei Wuxian. They. Will. _Brutalize _you.”)

“You! You! You! It was always about you fucking two!” Wen Chao snarled, slamming his boot into Wei Wuxian’s ribs before he could take a breath, “Lan Er-Gonzi, the heaven-sent prodigy! Funny little Wei Wuxian with his 10! Laughing at us behind our backs because the Games were always just a fucking joke to you!”

_Joke_.

_Joke_.

_J O K E._

He gripped his dagger and jabbed it in the next time that boot came near. Wen Chao shrieked, leaping back and finally allowing Wei Wuxian to get back to his feet, face narrow with rage.

“A ‘joke’, you say?” he hissed, “Hearing my sister’s name get called was a _joke_? Saying goodbye to my family for probably forever was a _joke_? Lan Zhan wanting to be with his brother again was a _joke_?!”

He took a step forward.

He felt a moment of glee as Wen Chao stepped back in fear.

“No, you want to know what _is _a joke? A Wen volunteering when no Wen has ever needed to be in the Hunger Games. It’s a joke when a Tribute gets a fucking gun, and then when he can’t aim for shit, he blames it on a weapon the rest of us could only dream of having. It’s a joke when you think any of us were laughing, that _any _of the Tributes forced into the fucking arena were out to make you ‘look bad’, instead of going fucking home, you self-centred, cock arrogant, _brat_!”

He slashed, very wildly, but Wen Chao was still a little coward who yelped and stumbled backwards, off balance.

(“Balance is important in a fight,” Lan Zhan had explained one night in the caverns, guiding Wei Ying through close combat moves, “Otherwise you will fall all too easily.)

He charged and slammed his body into the older Tribute, knocking him completely off his feet, water splashing as he hit the ground.

Wei Wuxian exhaled, knuckles white around his knife, hand trembling, before he just crouched down and yanked on one of the feet right in front of him, dragging the Tribute across the slippery floor until he could shove off the shoe into the grinding stone mechanism.

Wen Chao’s terrified screech bounced around in his ears as he stumbled back, turning.

Lan Zhan.

He needed to find him.

“DON’T RUN!” Wen Chao howled, “DON’T YOU DARE RUN, YOU LITTLE WHORE!”

He tensed, glancing, back, knife up warily, as the other Tribute desperately tried to free his foot from the caught shoe. He was grinning, laughing every now and then and the chills in Wei Wuxian’s spine were only increasing.

“You’re going back to _him, _aren’t you?” he sneered hysterically, “Gonna cosy back up to your big bad white knight? How _did _you do that? He’s such an ice hearted jerk! Before the Games, did you creep into his bed and offer him-"

Pure, boiling rage fuelled his feet as he slammed a boot straight into Wen Chao’s face.

“_Don’t_!” he hissed, reaching down to grip his jacket, shoving his face right before his enemy’s, “Don’t you _ever _talk about Lan Zhan like that! He is a better man than you could even _dream _of being!”

With that said, he exhaled, he let go, and he stumbled back up straight as Wen Chao just kept laughing.

“Don’t tell me . . . don’t tell me you _actually _like him?”

He glared.

(That head looked like it was asking for another kick.)

“You can’t be serious!” The Qishan Tribute was continuing to rant, “You _like _him? What, do you actual believe your little story that you two are in _love_?”

(. . . Huh?)

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snarled, judging how hard he needed to swing to shut the other one up. Already, the foot was beginning to slip loose so he sorted of needed to go before the other Tribute was back on his feet.

(He sort of wanted to hear this)

“Lan Zhan is my _friend.”_

(Not _lover)_

Of course, he _liked _Lan Zhan. More importantly, he _trusted _Lan Zhan.

But who wouldn’t?

Lan Zhan was incredible, kind, really really pretty, and honestly the best.

He liked being with him, liked the way his eyes would soften when the rest of him refused to, liked the way his voice sounded on the occasions that he spoke about Gusu, his whispered stories of snow covered mountaintops, of quiet summer days in that Library Pavilion he seemed so attached to, of springs of crystal water under the moonlight. Lan Zhan was warm, he was comforting, he was the reason Wei Wuxian had made it this far in the Games without going mad.

Lan Zhan was the _best_.

Lan Zhan-

(Oh Shit.)

He loved Lan Zhan.

He . . . he _loved _Lan Zhan.

He missed Lan Zhan. He wanted Lan Zhan by his side.

In fact, he needed to find Lan Zhan _right now_.

“I’m going.” he backed up, turning away, “I’m not fighting you. I’m going to Lan Zhan.”

“Come back here, you fucking WHORE_!”_

He heard the words, but they were distant, an echo from a man struggling to finally free himself from the cogs.

All he cared about was Lan Zhan, who was brave and honourable and sweet and earnest.

He didn’t hear the third totem fall.

But oh, did he feel the blade slicing across his side.

He managed to stumble sideways with a gasp, too late, too _slow_, hand moving to cinch tight the laceration that had likely reached a _rib_. The sword that had belonged to the Jin boy clattered to the ground, his blood glinting on the edge of the blade in the dim lighting, right before it washed off in the water pouring in through the cracks.

His hand was quickly turning warm, as red liquid seeped between his fingers.

He barely had time to look before hands were in the remnants of his hair and _yanking. _He gasped as he was brought backwards, the world tipping in and out and all around, his body slamming into the wet stone floor of the temple with enough force to turn his side into fire.

He let out a strained exhale, winded, gaze spotting over all too quickly, trying to get back up as he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes.

The world focused just in time for that ugly mug to be above him and he bared his teeth, even as Wen Chao crouched over him, holding down his prone limbs.

“Your pretty white knight ran so quickly when he heard that little bird screaming,” he sneered, and Wei Wuxian strained against the bigger Tribute, teeth bared as he tried to dislodge his leg, intending to knee where the sun didn’t shine.

Wen Chao just snarled and switched his position.

“Let’s see how fast he comes when it’s the real thing.”

And then shoved his own weight down.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop the scream as a loud snap echoed from his knee, heaving in gulps of air as his body tried desperately to panic, trying to stay focused as that metal barrel trailed tauntingly over his face.

“Don’t stop,” the man was grinning, half-deranged, “let your boyfriend know exactly where you are. I want to see that perfect face all in pieces when you die right in front of him~”

His blood ran hot and he slammed his head up, “Don’t _touch _him!”

Wen Chao gasped as his nose snapped with a crack, blood trickling down onto Wei Wuxian’s bruised forehead, but before he could take the moment to pull away, the man just slammed the gun against his left shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Wei Wuxian _gasped_, heart thrumming so loudly it could burst from his ears, as the bullet ripped apart his left shoulder at point blank range, burning his skin, tearing through muscle and bone, pain spreading out alongside the rapidly pooling blood.

“That’s it~”

A knee pressed down onto his own shattered one and he let out a strangled cry as the mangled kneecap was further crushed with ruthless glee, his throat struggling to even verbalise his panic as fire seemed to consume his right knee, the limb twitching uselessly under the body above it.

“You’re really getting full use out of that annoying voice of yours now. How does this feel?”

He pressed down harder and Wei Wuxian dissolved into full on screams, trying to claw his way to freedom, heaviness seeping its way into his limbs as his blood poured out in equal measure.

He almost didn’t notice the hand lifting off his right arm, fingers digging into his scalp as the Tribute got a fistful of his hair.

Wen Chao slammed his head into the ground, and he cried out as pain just kept blooming, now over the back of his skull.

“COME HERE!”

Another slam.

“TRY AND KILL ME!”

Another slam.

Something warm trickled down the back of his head.

“YOU ARROGANT BASTARD-!”

Wei Wuxian gasped as the weight pressing down on his body seemed to fly off, the sudden lack of pressure only allowing pain to pool straight into his shoulder and knee, vision rapidly blurring. Dimly, he could see two figures grappling and he blinked rapidly, struggling to get up.

Wen Chao was laughing hysterically.

“THAT’S RIGHT! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! YOU AND HIM! I’LL BLEED HIM OUT ALL OVER YOUR PRETTY FACE-_GAH!”_

Lan Zhan’s face was black with rage as he caught Wen Chao’s throat and slammed him into the temple wall, hard enough to make his neck rattle.

_“How dare you_,” Lan Zhan hissed, yanking the man back and slamming him right back against the wall. Wen Chao’s shouts turned to pained shrieks, apologies immediately flying from his throat too late as Lan Zhan attempted to break his neck against the wall.

“LAN ZHAN, RIGHT!”

Lan Zhan jolted back with Wei Wuxian’s cry, letting go and stepping back right as the timed javelin hurled between him and Wen Chao. The other Tribute manically laughed, blood now dribbling between his eyes, as he used the moment to haul up his pistol and fire.

And in that brief moment, Lan Zhan’s hand dropped to _Bichen _and unsheathed it.

Wen Chao just remained smiling, as the two severed halves of the bullet dropped to the ground with tiny splashes, and Lan Zhan finished hauling out the blade. He twirled it around, just once, and then swung fast enough that the razor-sharp blade left a white line through the stone wall itself, right along Wen Chao’s neck.

Something flew off and rolled with a splash once it hit the ground.

As the headless body crumpled to the ground, Wei Wuxian finally exhaled, slumping down and trying to steady his rapid breathing.

A single cannon fired through the rain.

Knees splashed against the waterlogged floor as Lan Zhan fell beside him, a warm hand against his face, brushing matted hair from his eyes, and he hissed as fingers cradled the all too tender back of his skull. Lan Zhan’s breathing was harried as his other hand desperately pressed against the blood spilling out from Wei Wuxian’s side.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Don’t worry,” Lan Zhan’s voice trembled as he gripped on tightly, ripping off his jacket and pulling it to shreds, binding the injury as quickly as he could, “don’t worry. I’m here. I’m here.”

“. . . Need to . . . tell you-”

“Save your breath,” Lan Zhan was frantic, hands flying over him, golden eyes beacons in the storm, full of distress as a knock against Wei Wuxian’s leg made him gasp in pain, knee exploding afresh, “we still have some of the medicine. I’ll go get it-!”

“_No,” _he gripped that wrist tight as Lan Zhan went to move, “No! Don’t you . . . don’t you _dare _go!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whimpered, leaning over and clinging to his hand, “_please_.”

“Lan Zhan . . . Lan Wangji-” He choked, coughing up something warm and viscous, spraying distasteful red spots across that beautiful face.

A hand was on his face, running soothingly over his hairline.

“It’s okay.” Lan Zhan promised, “You’re going to be okay.”

“Lan Zhan . . .” he reached up, full of stabbing fear that this perfect human would leave him before he could cough out the words. Lan Zhan caught him midway, crushing his hand in his own mighty grip, “I love you.”

Lan Zhan froze above him, eyes widening ever so slightly.

“. . . What?”

“You heard me; I love you, I fancy you, I _whatever _you,” he coughed, struggling to sit up as torrents of pain ran through his shoulder and head afresh, “I want to sleep beside you. I want to hold hands with you. I want t-to go boating in Lotus Pier with you, I want to see y-your Library Pavilion. I want to spend forever with you.”

Somehow, he still managed to grin, even when everything just stabbed his brain all over again. “I w-want to do things with you I can’t say on National Television, he, hehe,” it devolved into a faintly hysterical cough and the hands moved but he just gripped them tighter, knowing his breath was uneven and not caring as he glared up intently.

“I know . . . I know I’m a liar. I’m a trickster. You don’t have any reason to trust me. But I . . I . . .” he hiccoughed, mouth hanging open as he desperately kept reaching, “I was willing to die with you.”

Somehow, as he stared up at that petrified face, it came out, “I can’t leave here without you. I can’t go on without you by my side. It has to be you. I can’t have anyone but you.”

The rain was still pouring, washing the blood and warmth off his body, as he laid back, his piece said, world blurring.

There.

He was happy now.

And then a hand caught the back of his head and he gasped as he was pulled up and Lan Zhan crushed their lips together. He let out a startled cry, as their trembling teeth clashed together, willing back the tears coming up in full force, focusing on the sun-cracked lips pressed against his.

Slowly, trembling, Lan Zhan slid off his mouth, to bury his face in the part of Wei Wuxian’s shoulder that wasn’t bleeding.

“. . . love you.”

“Mm.”

“Fancy you.”

“Mm.”

“Hold hands with you. Spend forever with you. Die with you.”

“Mmhm.”

Lan Zhan just leant over him, face trembling, salty droplets of water mingling with the fresh ones landing on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Can’t have anyone but you.”

He went to agreeably hum again, and was cut off pre-emptively by another kiss, Lan Zhan pressing hard against him, shoulders trembling from the sobs stubbornly unearthing themselves from his immovable chest.

“Trust Wei Ying. _Trust Wei Ying._”

Wei Wuxian just huffed, even as his grip waned, and his eyelids fluttered.

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, don’t . . . don’t cry . . . messes up . . . that pretty face . . .”

“Wei Ying! Don’t close your eyes!”

Ah. The rain had stopped. That was nice.

“I’ll get the medicine, hang on, _please_.”

Ah~ Lan Zhan’s voice was so pretty, even if it seemed to be getting further away, despite the hands still holding onto his side.

Huh. The sky seemed darker.

Like an echo from the ends of a tunnel, a triumphant orchestration vibrated inaudibly around him.

_“Congratulations to Tribute Lan and Tribute Wei . . . our victors . . . Games . . . according to the rule-”_

Above him, ropes fell down from the transport and multiple silhouettes dropped around them.

All he cared about was the sudden lack of warmth surrounding him.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying!” the hysterical shriek echoed a bit away, but god only knew where it was from how distant all the sound seemed to be bouncing, “Wei Ying! _Wei Ying!”_

“Lan Zhan . . .”

Hands were at his sides, black was in his vision, and his arms were pulled up as a needle plunged into his neck and oblivion claimed him.

* * *

The next three days were a faded haze of pain and sticky warmth, needles in his arms, masked faces over his body, plaster over his knee, as he passed in and out of consciousness whilst the Capital’s doctors pieced him back together.

Every moment awake was terrible, hands stretched out for a body that wasn’t there, trying to call out despite sedated, uncooperative lips, all his pain blurred by medicine and drugs with enough potency to blur the rest of him.

When he finally came to properly, the first thing he noticed was Nie Huaisang.

“. . . Ngieee?”

The stylist startled, blinking out of the absent daze to focus on him. “Ah! Wei-xiong, you’re awake!”

“Where . . .” panic filled him as he gazed around the empty white room, “Lan Zhan. Where-?”

“Lan Wangji is fine,” the other assured him, “he’s currently sedated, like you’ve been, whilst his injuries heal.”

Sedated? But, he hadn’t thought any of Lan Wangji’s injuries had been that serious?!

“Oh, no, that’s not why,” Nie Huaisang replied to the comment he had apparently spoken aloud, “he was reportedly quite hysterical when you were both airlifted out. Knocked three peacekeepers unconscious just trying to get to you.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, head still too heavy to lift up from the actual pillow it was resting against it.

Nie Huaisang nodded, “Congratulations, by the way. You know. For winning.”

A single tear ran down his face and arms were wrapped around his limp body as he began sobbing like a baby.

“It’s okay, it’s all right. It’s all over.” Nie Huaisang softly repeated, again and again, (providing a clue why it was he and not Madam Yu waiting to him to wake up), but Wei Wuxian just kept going.

Over.

Over.

Over.

He’d won.

He was going home.

He was going _home _it was _over _he never had to go back to that _cursed fucking arena ever again he was going home to Shijie and Jiang Cheng and Uncle and Lotus Pier and_

“How?” he mumbled around his thick lips, “Lan Zhan . . . and I . . .?”

Nie Huaisang let out a monumental sigh as he kept absently patting his head.

“God fucking . . . couples pass, _remember_? They changed the rules?”

“. . . Couples?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t _stated _but given the whole dramatic confession and making out whilst you were bleeding to death in the rain, the gamemasters were willing to make some assumptions.”

Oh.

Right.

He loved Lan Zhan. He’d confessed to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan had kissed him back.

(Lan Zhan was good at kissing.)

“I hope it’s the drugs causing that dopey face, cos I can’t do _anything _to make it attractive if _that _just happens whenever you think about him.”

He tried to whack his stylist, forgot about his entirely numb limb and just sort of flailed. Nie Huaisang gave it an absent pat.

“You made me cry you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Fucking bawling. Ended up throwing all my tissues onto Da-ge’s lap which I _regretted._”

It took a while to click that, oh yeah, former Victor’s came to watch the Games in the Capital, which would be how Nie Mingjue was available to become his baby brother’s unwilling tissue receptacle instead of being back home in Qinghe.

Former Victor’s had to come back to watch the Games in the Capital.

He didn’t want to do that. Fuck doing that.

He wanted to be with Lan Zhan.

In fact, he wanted to be with Lan Zhan _right now_.

“I know, I know, but maybe not when you can’t even lift your hand,” Nie Huaisang kept patting his muggy head, “I think they’re planning on televising your reunion. You know. For the audience.”

He pouted ferociously. What about for him? He just won the Hunger Games, he should get his partner.

(He had just won the Hunger Games)

“Go back to sleep, Wei-xiong,” a hand pulled down his eyelids, and it said something that he couldn’t even resist, “take it easy now. He’s not going anywhere.”

Mm.

Mm . . .

When next he awoke up, the haze was noticeably absent, along with most of the needles previously jabbed into his limbs. With lips not thickened from sedatives, he groaned, reaching up to properly pull fingers through his hair.

Where the right side of his hair had been, there now only remained a buzzcut and he blinked, running hands across the fine layer of hair, starting abruptly at his centre parting, the left side just as long as always.

The door opened and Nie Huaisang blinked at the position he was in.

“Oh, yeah, hope you weren’t in the mood for a bob. The right side was too choppy, so I just got it shaved. Figured you’d prefer a half-style over _all _your hair getting shorn to your ears.”

“Do you have a mirror?” he just uselessly tilted his head back and forth, tipping the long side of his new hair style forward.

Nie Huaisang hummed agreeably because of course he did. He pulled the small hand mirror out and held it up. Wei Wuxian blinked, moving his head around to observe the change.

“. . . I don’t hate it.”

Nie Huaisang let out a dramatic huff, “Good, because there wasn’t much I could do to reverse it except get you a wig. Oh, and speaking of err, ‘lost’ things, I hope you weren’t too attached to a bone kneecap. Your right one’s metal now.”

He just blinked, pulling aside the blankets to look down. He was clad in a flimsy medical gown, and his knobbly knees jutted out from the hem, left particularly knobbly, as the right was covered in tiny scars.

“Guess Wen Chao did a number on it, huh?”

“If by ‘number’ you mean he completely shattered it, and applied enough pressure that the bone shards spread out and severed key tendon and muscle tissue, then yeah. He did.”

Wei Wuxian just winced, “Can I still walk?”

“You’re in the Capital - of course you can still walk.”

He grinned and then jolted, “Ah, then what about Lan Zhan? Is his leg-?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s gotten fully checked over and repaired. In fact, after your bit of emergency first aid in the cave, it looks like _you_’ll be the only one needing a walking cane.” Nie Huaisang just shook his head in very distinct disappointment. “So many people put money into your Feast packages. _So _many.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

“No, you haven’t gathered anything,” Nie Huaisang just sighed dramatically, “how you convinced these people you were _smart _is beyond me.”

“Must have been my roguish good looks.”

“Oh, okay. So almost entirely _my _work?” Nie Huaisang cracked open his signature fan, eyes accusing over the rim, “Can you repeat that on camera?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” He sat up properly, swinging his legs of the edge and blinking as the world spun slightly. “Can I get up?”

“I wouldn’t,” Nie Huaisang, “it’s, like, 2 in the morning. I’d say go back to sleep for bit - the closing ceremony isn’t until tonight.”

“Closing ceremony?”

The door to his small medical room slid open and he visibly brightened.

“Yes, the closing ceremony - you’re not yet done here.”

Madam Yu sent him a stink eye, walking in with a tray of honest to god _food_, “Don’t look so happy to see me, Wei Wuxian. It’s creepy.”

“In my defence, my happiness is entirely derived from that tray.”

“Better,” she slammed it down beside him and he didn’t bother with cutlery, reaching out to snap off a chicken leg and eagerly sinking in his teeth, actual fucking food going down his throat.

(Was he crying? He felt like crying.)

“Don’t eat so fast or it’ll all come up.”

“Yeah, okay, then I’ll leave you two,” Nie Huaisang, “I’ve still got to finish your suit for tonight. I’ll see you later to get you dressed.”

“Didn’t you say it was 2 in the morning?” he got out around the tender strips of meat and Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan.

“Time is relative.”

He sailed out and Wei Wuxian was left perfectly happy to continue tearing into food that wasn’t cornucopia packed rations or cave dwelling insects. He hadn’t properly eaten in . . . in . . .

He swallowed.

“How long did - did we take?”

“Thirteen days,” Madam Yu drawled, “Two hours from clearing a perfect two weeks - a lot of people lost money over that.”

Less than two weeks. He hands paused in his food as his whole body seemed to seize up a bit. His time in the arena had taken _less _than _two weeks_.

He couldn’t stop the sudden shiver that crossed through his whole body and he inhaled reflexively, clutching his wrists and oh god, it felt awful, he felt like he couldn’t breathe, where was Lan Zhan-?

Madam Yu slammed hands onto his shoulders, and he jumped.

“Wei Wuxian.” her voice cut through harsher than a strike from Zidian, “Focus. Count your breaths. It doesn’t matter. It is over.”

She shoved a bread roll into his hands.

“Eat.”

He weakly complied, even if his stomach suddenly felt terribly small, because _all of that _had been _less _than-

His breath hitched.

He turned to his Mentor, panic ever so slightly returning.

“I . . . I killed someone.” He whispered, a tiny little confession, “I _k-killed __people_. I-!”

She dropped a hand on his head.

“You _survived_. You’re not a murderer.”

He blinked and couldn’t stop the waterworks, “Is . . . is Shijie disappointed?”

Madam Yu sneered at him.

“Of course, she isn’t, you brat. She and A-Cheng watched the whole thing, all the way through back home.”

He exhaled, and drew back slightly, a shiver running through him.

The next thing shoved into his hands was a cup of warm tea.

(He was starting to think the contents of this tray had been planned)

He finished it dutifully, exhaling, before fiddling with the cup.

“. . . Can I-?”

“No, you can’t see Lan Wangji.”

He immediately pouted, mildly churlish. She just turned to look at him pointedly.

“This isn’t done yet, Wei Wuxian. Until you get on that train back home, you are still a part of the Hunger Games. You’ll get him back after the closing ceremony tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll have your farewell conference, your crowning and _then _you can go and do things to that poor boy that can’t be said on National Television.”

He flushed.

“In my defence, that was not a planned confession.”

“If there ever comes a day when you think of what comes out of your mouth, then the whole balance of the world will shift,” she grumbled, closing her eyes, “Why couldn’t I have just told you the meaning of that dumb ribbon?”

He blinked.

“. . . Meaning?” he asked, suddenly very nervous. She turned and glowered at him.

“It’s a virginity ribbon, Wei Wuxian.”

“. . . _What_.”

“Well, technically, it symbolises ‘regulation’,” she raised her diction, all hoity-toity like Lan Zhan’s mentor had a tendency to do, “and the Lan Clan adhere to a code that the only time you can be ‘without regulation’ is with the one you love. Bunch of sappy, poetry writing romantics.”

(The one you love?)

He flushed.

She nodded, “Yeah. Handing it to someone is the equivalent of a _marriage proposal _in Gusu.”

He just stuffed another bread roll in his mouth.

“. . . What’s the equivalent of tying it around someone’s wrist.”

She stared him dead in the eye and he cleared his throat.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT BIT?!”

“OH, I WISH I HAD!!”

They both sighed, and he just buried his face in his hands.

Something occurred to him and he just went redder.

“. . . They’re going to show that during the replay tonight, aren’t they?”

“Oh absolutely. It was only one of the most viewed parts of the whole Games.”

He wanted to scream. He had told Lan Zhan that nothing had happened. And Lan Zhan . . .

“Do you think they’ll warn him?”

“Absolutely _not _\- the Capital will want his reaction shot live.”

He let out a rather ungraceful moan.

“. . . Can we please never talk about this with Uncle?”

“. . . I won’t if you don’t.”

The sun rose and fell and by night time and about seven more hours of sleep later, the live wire had returned - the constant hum, the trailing fingeres crawling along his spine, knowing the exact number of peacekeepers on the other side of the door, knowing the sea of cameras waiting beyond.

He had brushed it off, distracted himself, before the Games but now?

He was tired.

He felt hunted.

He didn’t have the energy to be these people’s plaything.

(He wanted Lan Zhan.)

Nie Huaisang tapped the back of his leg with his fan’s guard. “Wei-xiong, stop fidgeting, I’m going to prick you.”

“Prick away.”

“Sure, but I’m worried that if I prick you, you’re going to reflexively try to throttle me.”

He winced.

“Hey, it’s cool man, Da-ge still jumps at slamming doors, I’m used to it.”

He just sighed, wringing his hands.

“. . . I want-”

“Lan-xiong is in the adjacent holding room. He’ll go up first, you second and then you can kiss him all you want.”

“I want him _now_.” he whined, stilling as Nie Huaisang rose up to readjust the collar. This outfit was far more typical, a pure black suit, hems edged in red, and a crisp red dress shirt. Nie Huaisang had forgone the tie, simply leaving the top few buttons open, which was appreciated even as leather shoes tailor made to fit his feet were still crushing his toes. His hair had been hauled into an off-centre ponytail, red flames dyed across his shaven side, and the ponytail tied off with a simple red ribbon. A metal cane rested beside him as a precaution for walking on his newly reconstructed knee.

“You’ll be in the audience right?” he double checked, as Nie Huaisang fastened on cufflinks depicting Yunmeng’s lotus crest. The man just hummed, reaching up to dust some more red powder across his eyelids.

“Yeah, but I’ll be with the Victors this time, next to Da-ge. All the other stylists will just be in the audience, so there was no point reserving us a spot.”

Compared to the dramatic, almost stage-like makeup that the other had gone wild with during his previous time here, now it was subtle, goal being to hide the weary lines, the sunken cheeks, nothing more than light dustings of shadows and liners. Even his facial scar had been left visible, if noticeably cleaned up to be nothing more than a neat white line from eyebrow to cheek. Under the suit, the others ached.

(The huge scar on his side. The reconstructed shoulder. The bullet’s webbed scar. The-)

Two peacekeepers walked in.

Nie Huaisang gave him a warm smile and he just reached out and wrapped his arms around the stylist.

His reward were two light pats against his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You’ll do great. And he’s waiting up there for you.”

“Yeah,” he stepped back and pulled out his grin from some depths of his soul, “I’ve got this.”

Nie Huaisang just waggled his fan on the way out.

(“Just give poor Lan-xiong some face when the review reaches his drunken episode.”

“_Don’t remind me_.”)

The Peacekeepers led him through the corridor, doors swinging open to let the torrent of music pour in, Commentator Yao’s voice a harsh discordant note above it all. It was all eerily familiar to the first time.

But this time he was alone.

This time, he had two Peacekeepers, walking respectfully behind him as an escort, instead of a single one holding his arm just in case he tried to run.

“. . . Please rise to your feet, ladies and gentlemen, for your victor from Gusu, LAN WANGJI!”

The audience’s roar washed over him, but he just swallowed, blocking it out with thought, pace increasing just the littlest bit, coming to the wings of the immense stage, the Capital residents filling the world beyond it, and atop it . . .

There he was.

He was clad in a porcelain white suit, hair a stark raven waterfall against his back, a small topknot contained by a silver diadem. Beautiful blue silken threads had been used to embroider clouds throughout the suit.

He looked so much more relaxed than the first time he’d been on stage and Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop the fond smile breaking his face. He barely heard the call of his own name, the roar of the crowds, as he came up onto the stage without his escort. Lan Zhan turned, golden eyes seeking him out immediately and he broke into a run, stumbling slightly from his still new gait, and falling right into those arms. Luckily, Lan Zhan knew exactly what he was thinking, and within moments, an arm had hooked around his body, lifting him up into the air and his partner kissed him.

He remained deaf to what had to be the whole stadium breaking into cheers as he dug fingers into silken hair, the other hand gripping Lan Zhan’s back. The smell of sandalwood washed over him again, for the first time since the night of the Interviews, the hands against his back, his neck, both equally desperate as Lan Zhan and he gripped each other with all the determination of never letting go.

He could have remained there for the whole night, damn the crowds, but the cleared throat, magnified through thousands of speakers, had him tilting his head back, legs still wrapped around Lan Zhan’s torso whilst bear hugging him. Commentator Yao was smiling broadly as he extended Wei Wuxian’s cane.

“Perhaps it would be more comfortable sitting down?” he offered, gesturing to where the single chair had been the last time, but where there was now a plush, slightly small couch, clearly designed for two people to cuddle.

It did look like a better option to clinging to Lan Zhan like a koala, but he didn’t want to let go.

Luckily, Lan Zhan seemed to share his train of thought, and Wei Wuxian let out a pleased chirp as the hand supporting his back moved to hoist under his legs. He wrapped his arms tight around Lan Zhan’s neck as his beloved hooked up Wei Wuxian’s body, gliding over to the couch with Wei Wuxian pressed up against his chest like his very own blushing bride.

Wei Wuxian remained inordinately pleased as he was carried over to the couch, Lan Zhan sitting upon it with ease, placing Wei Wuxian down gently beside him. He immediately minimised the space between them, pressing up against that body, wrapping his arms firmly around Lan Zhan’s chest and snuggling up against him, his own legs splayed out along the couch, as Lan Zhan sat up straight and perfect.

One arm was around his shoulders, holding him close, the other running through his hair and he exhaled, nosing Lan Zhan’s neck, revelling in his warmth.

Across from them, Commentator Yao sat down, a wave of his hands silencing the eager crowd.

“I believe it goes without saying,” he swept out his hands, “but congratulations!”

The audience broke their silence immediately, rising to the feet in a wave, cheers bouncing around his head and Wei Wuxian just pressed in closer to his partner, hands trembling slightly where they gripped the white suit.

“Ladies and Gentleman, we present to you,” the immense screens descended around them, rewinding to a Golden Cornucopia in the centre of a canyon, the numbers counting down from 60, “the Hunger Games!”

Unable to help himself, he still turned to watch, as the audience drowned out the world around him.

Surreal, Madame Yu had described it, before leaving him with Nie Huaisang. Like you were caught in a limbo between two worlds.

As he watched his televised self dig into the canyon walls, thumbing the black powder speculatively, he sure felt that way, caught between the sound around him and the body on the screen.

Lan Zhan’s heart beat under his ear, even and strong, and he clung on tighter.

In the three and a half days the Capital had set aside to fix their Tributes, they had also been hard at work compressing thirteen days into a four-hour review of his and Lan Zhan’s best moments.

The landslide at the Cornucopia.

(Their first alliance)

Their first kills. 

(A tally began on the sides to keep track of how many they each got)

Their first monster heavy venture into the caverns.

(The amount of times Lan Zhan’s sword saved him from the aggressive fangs or mandibles he’d tracked down without a contingency plan)

The ambush by the Lanling Careers and Lan Zhan’s compatriot from Gusu.

(The arrow he’d shot through her head before she could skewer Lan Zhan, who’d gotten overwhelmed, to the point of panic, by the sound, when the three gathered a conglomerate of boulders and sent them rolling through the echoing caves)

The accidental collision at the riverbank.

(The little thirteen-year-old who’d slipped off the edge and fell screaming to his death when both groups were suddenly ambushed from afar by the Qishan pair)

The chase through the caverns.

(The final strike from Lan Zhan that sounded both a cannon and their fall into the Xuanwu’s cave.)

It was here that the editors slowed down, really pulling out their time together.

The fight against the monster.

Lan Zhan’s illness.

The Feast.

(He barely winced as he watched his own chin slam into the ground, blood pouring out from the bullet wound, whilst the hand around his shoulders clenched.

He, meanwhile, went stiff as he watched Lan Zhan wake to the sound Wang Lingjiao’s cannon, dragging his feverish body to the boulder, whimpering Wei Wuxian’s name over and over as he desperately tried to free himself.

Lan Zhan pressed a reassuring kiss to the crown of his head.)

They played out the whole reunion and he pressed his face into Lan Zhan’s suit, knowing what was coming.

He stubbornly refused to look up as Lan Zhan’s heart skipped a beat under Wei Wuxian’s ear, the entire audience howling as that ribbon was wrapped around his hands and he very obviously had no fucking clue what was going on.

(When he peeked up, Lan Zhan was watching him, mouth flat, very unimpressed, the tips of his ears bright red, and he flushed, kissing the look off Lan Zhan’s face)

Lan Zhan’s visible satisfaction with said kiss vanished in a flash as the review sped up through their rest days, climaxing in Wei Wuxian’s collision with Wen Chao.

(He saw the blood Wen Chao had deliberately set through the temple to confuse the tracker)

Wei Wuxian just watched, amazed, as Lan Zhan sliced the jabberjay waiting for him in two, sprinted back out and found his little lotus carving, deftly glancing around the other possible routes, picking the right one on the first try and bolting when his actual screams began to echo down the corridor.

(The look on Lan Zhan’s face as he hauled Wen Chao off Wei Wuxian’s bleeding body, the brief scrabble that resulted in the Qishan Tribute’s decapitation)

Their whole confession played out, moment for moment.

Thirteen days. Roughly three hundred hours. Twenty-two deaths.

(Wei Wuxian had three kills.

Lan Zhan beat him with six.)

On screen and live, the victorious anthem sounded together as cannons fired confetti all across their stage, raining down over the two of them, blue and white for Gusu and purple for Yunmeng.

The crowd joined them on their feet, cheers washing over them, as they raised linked hands and bowed.

He didn’t return to his medical room that night, but was instead escorted to the Victor’s suite, neither one of them letting go as they were informed about the events of the following day and then left alone to get some sleep.

Wei Wuxian would have gladly collapsed there, knee starting to ache again, but Lan Zhan just set him down onto the double bed, trailing kisses over every inch of his skin as he stripped off the black suit and bundled Wei Wuxian into silk pyjamas.

Wei Wuxian contributed to this team effort by humming appreciatively from his perch on the bed, as Lan Zhan’s shirt hit the ground.

Lan Zhan’s eyes flickered with amusement as he joined him, the two of them pressed up together like in the arena, except instead of stone, they were now resting against a cushy mattress, and instead of miscellaneous jackets, they had a blanket wrapped around them and pillows under their heads.

“. . . Missed you.” He finally mumbled, just between the two of them, and Lan Zhan hummed in agreement as he returned to his mission of pressing kisses against every inch of Wei Wuxian’s body.

“. . . Scared.”

“Sorry,” he let out a tired laugh. For all that he did actually want to see what he and Lan Zhan could get up to without the cameras watching, he was just too tired to do more than remain happy and pliant under his partner’s attention.

Said attention caught as Lan Zhan paused at his left shoulder, the grafted skin leaving little unevenly tanned lines all across his collarbone.

He just grinned, reaching over to twirl his fingers through Lan Zhan’s pooling hair.

“It’s fine, Lan Zhan.” He couldn’t stop the teasing lilt to his voice, “You know, there’s nothing more appealing to the ladies than a couple of war scars~”

Lan Zhan huffed, shaking his head, “Incorrigible.”

“That’s me~”

“No more flirting,” Lan Zhan just asserted in response and Wei Wuxian’s snickered protest was interrupted by the feeling of something cool entwining around his wrists, Lan Zhan rolling on top of him, strands of hair falling across Wei Wuxian’s face like a curtain.

“Properly this time,” Lan Zhan held up Wei Wuxian’s wrists, held together by his ribbon, “Wei Ying is mine. No one else’s.”

He beamed, nodding contentedly, “How could I look at anyone else with this sort of view?”

“Good.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t need any more invitation to loop his wrists over Lan Zhan’s head, the ribbon pulling that head down to kiss him on the lips.

The best part about the last day, if you were to ask Wei Wuxian, was the little joy that came from getting to wear his regular clothes in favour of some elaborate get up.

The jeans might be immeasurably better quality than his usual scrappy pairs, and Nie Huaisang might have tailored every single thread woven into his red sweater, but it still felt ten times more comfortable than anything else he had worn.

And the bestest part of the best part was that he also got to see Lan Zhan dressed in what he deemed ‘casual robes’, which turned out to be a whole ass white get up, draping sleeves, ornamental belt, hair diadem and all, that he normally studied in at Gusu.

And he looked so happy in them. Wei Wuxian couldn’t _not _giggle with laughter and link arms with him, pressing up beside the elegant teen.

Madam Yu and Lan Qiren were there to guide them to the small conference room, carpeted, gold crusted, open windows to the city beyond, where Commentator Yao was waiting for them, only a small set of cameras in position alongside the couch.

After a quick exchange of greetings, he launched in.

“We were all invested from the start - you two seemed so combative at your first meeting and now look! When do you think your thoughts changed, especially compared to your thoughts during the Interviews?”

“It’s sort of hard to pin point it,” he admitted, as Lan Zhan played with his hair, “I mean, Lan Zhan here has always been the prettiest - that hasn’t changed - but I thought he was just a bunch of rules and rigidity underneath the looks. I guess it was progressive, as I got to know how sweet he actually is. I know when I _realised _I was in love with him, but then it suddenly just seemed to click that I’d long since decided that I wanted to be with him forever.”

“And yourself, Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian was expecting the small hum, the short-clipped comment.

Lan Zhan just spoke without hesitation.

“Wei Ying is still the type to die young.”

He snorted and opened his mouth to comment, but his partner wasn’t finished.

“I believed it was foolishness or insincerity. That was narrow minded of me - I learnt that Wei Ying was more than spectacle. He is kind and smart and good. He is joy and he became, in the arena and forever more, my light.”

Commentator Yao laughed, and turned to the slighter of the pair.

“And what have you to say about that, Wei Wuxian? . . . Wei Wuxian?”

Meanwhile, the entirety of the nation got to witness, with his eyes wide and mouth slightly open, as Wei Wuxian was left speechless for the first time he’d appeared on their screens.

(Lan Zhan looked inordinately pleased with himself)

He felt his cheeks flush and he let out an overly pleased squeak as he buried his face into Lan Zhan’s neck.

Commentator Yao just sat back down and found himself actually turning to the _less _talkative of the pair.

“What were you thinking, right at the end there, when you found Wei Wuxian?”

“That I had to save him,” he answered immediately, “I had to save him no matter what.”

“And Wei Wuxian, did you share this sentiment during the Feast?”

He nodded, face still in that neck, “I knew I couldn’t go on without him. I couldn’t live if I let him die.”

He asked a few more questions, about their time in their arena, their feelings for each other, before winding up. They had a schedule to keep too, after all.

“And now, as you get ready to leave, what will you miss most from the Capital?”

“The free alcohol,” Wei Wuxian responded immediately and there were several laughs from the surrounding cameramen. Lan Zhan didn’t reply, occupied with playing with Wei Wuxian’s hair.

Commentator Yao clapped his hands together.

“Now I’m sure you’re both eager to return home - just beyond that door, the path to the train awaits you.”

They both nodded, Lan Zhan waiting for Wei Ying to unfurl himself before they both stood up, when the Commentator gestured instead back towards the way they came.

“However, normally this is saved for the Victory Tour - but since you both come from different Districts, we felt the need to instead bring them here.”

The door swung open.

Wei Wuxian seized up.

It was . . .

_It was_. . .

“A-XIAN!”

Jiang Yanli tackled him and he barely opened his arms in time to receive the hug, tears immediately rising, as he was dimly aware of Lan Zhan being enveloped by another white clad figure beside him.

His elder sister pulled back and beamed, reaching up to stroke his hair back. A small laugh bubbled out.

“A-Xian, A-Xian, I know Mother’s been threatening to shave your hair off for a while now, but you didn’t have to take it so seriously.”

“Ah, you know me,” he reached up and leant into that hand, “does Shijie like it?”

“It looks wonderful,” she smiled warmly, and then he was distracted by a hard punch to the arm. He turned, grinning, to his scowling younger brother.

“Happy Belated Birthday, Jiang Cheng.”

His now sixteen-year-old brother just scowled, and punched him again.

“You fucking idiot.”

“Thank you.”

“Self-sacrificing moron. Selfish jerk. Dumb, fucking, dense, shit stain-”

“I’m starting to think you missed me here, A-Cheng~”

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks spotted with red and then Wei Wuxian was receiving another hug. He blinked, as Jiang Cheng gripped him tightly.

“. . . Aw, you _do _care-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng and he both straightened up as Jiang Fengmian stepped forward, “we’re so proud of you.”

He grinned, reached into his pocket and pulled out the small Token.

“I didn’t lose it, Uncle~”

A hand came down and ruffled his hair. His Uncle smiled warmly.

“Mm. And you found your way back to us.” he didn’t seem to know what to do next, patting his head, his shoulder, “I have melon waiting for you on the train.”

“And soup!” Jiang Yanli inputted excitedly, “I made some to bring with us!”

“I already ate the ribs though,” Jiang Cheng deadpanned.

Wei Wuxian just whacked him in mock anger.

They all quietened though, as a figure in white drew over to them.

This must be the Brother.

Lan Xichen looked like a nigh identical copy of his younger sibling, save slightly more aged and distinctly more gentle-faced. His family gave the two of them space as he hurried to salute.

“Umm, it’s nice to meet you, Elder Brother-”

A hand, baring strength that told him Lan Zhan’s wasn’t unique, yanked him forward and two arms crushed him.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen whispered in his ear, trembling, “_Thank you_.”

“Yeah.” He just responded, a bit off guard before swallowing, “Err, if it helps, I’m pretty sure your brother saved me like ten times more than I saved him.”

“You’d be surprised,” the elder released him, allowing him access to the sight of Lan Zhan dipping slightly so that Jiang Yanli’s arms could go around his neck, a confused, yet pleased flush to his ears.

“Come on, you two,” Jiang Fengmian finally pulled them back, “let’s go meet up with your mother.”

“We will all see you two on the train.” Lan Xichen added, as the small group were led out.

Wei Wuxian just exchanged a still vaguely stunned look with Lan Zhan, before a smile split apart his face and he closed the distance between them to throw his arms around his partner.

“Wei Ying?”

“I’m happy!” he declared, beaming, “Really, really happy!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes glowed.

Hand in hand, they walked out of the grand doors on the opposite side of the room.

A long path had sectioned off, all the way to the train station, and the entirety of the Capital’s population were pressed along the sides, cheering, as they stepped out into the sun.

A podium had been constructed right at the top where they walked out, the President waiting for them beside a cushion bearing two crowns.

Lan Zhan held himself tall as he shook hands with the President and a special guest came up to rest a crown of white atop his head.

Wei Wuxian went next, meeting the President’s old, rheumy eyesas their hands shook, before turning to the special guest. Director Wen Ruohan, the CEO of the Peacekeeper Training Institution, was all smiles as he set down the black crown.

“Congratulations, Wei Wuxian,” he murmured, too softly for the microphones, “I hope you enjoy this.”

He smiled back, bright eyed and teeth shining.

“Thank you, Director!”

(There was only one thing he cared about)

He turned back to re-join Lan Zhan’s side as, hand in hand, they walked through a path of cheering spectators, throwing flowers and decorative ribbons, leaving the Capital far, far behind.

They were on a train.

The same train that had taken him from Yunmeng.

Brought him to the Capital, to the Games.

(To Lan Zhan)

It was disconcerting, the unease threatening to keep his body tense and ready.

Except, this time, it was different.

This time it was taking him home.

Well, not directly. They were heading to Gusu first, as the closer, and more favoured, District. Beyond the windows, the countryside flashed by in blurs of green and gold, and he just exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch. The figure napping on his lap barely stirred, and he ran his fingers over those porcelain features, licking melon juice off his other hand.

It was just the two of them right now, their family members off in another carriage, and who – judging by the matching expressions on Elder Brother Lan and Shijie’s faces – were now likely discussing engagement celebrations.

A hand reached up to hold his.

Lan Zhan’s golden eyes shone soulfully up as he blinked away sleep. Wei Wuxian just huffed, continuing to run fingers through that silken hair.

“Hey . . . Lan Zhan?”

“Mm?”

“It doesn’t end, does it?”

Those beautiful eyes blinked; head tilted oh so innocently in question. Wei Wuxian sighed, and the pull on his shoulders ached.

“We’ll arrive to cameras. Spend a year on the Victory Tour. Be expected to return to the Capital to watch the next Games. Smile and laugh whenever there’s an eye turned to us.”

“. . . Mm.”

“I don’t think I could stand it.” he sighed, “I just want it to be you and me, forever. I don’t want to share you with the Capital.”

Lan Zhan straightened up, porcelain white, silk robes falling like water across the couch, as he pulled himself up, the two pressed up alongside each other. Like this, Lan Zhan’s expression, uncharacteristically open, eyes still half-lidded from sleep, was the most beautiful thing Wei Wuxian had ever seen.

A hand tucked locks of hair behind his left ear.

“Don’t care.”

He blinked.

Lan Zhan just continued, no hesitation, “Capital can do what it wants. Wei Ying is with me for eternity. As long as we are together, we can do anything.”

He allowed his smile to tease up, turning ever so slightly mischievous, as he held up a pinky.

“Promise~?”

He expected the huff. He didn’t expect Lan Zhan’s hands to bypass his own, gently cradling his cheeks as his partner pressed the chastest of kisses against his forehead.

“Promise.” Lan Zhan _smiled _with complete trust.

And it was such a beautiful image, that he was still staring in awe when their families returned, quite content to stare forever more.

**Author's Note:**

> THE END  
HAHA
> 
> Also, quite a few people wanted angst but I have limits to the amount I'm Willing to Write so yes, this was always going to be a happy end!
> 
> JC is now 16 - I will never not be amused that, according to the wikia, JC is the baby by five days like . . . Obviously WWX rubs that in
> 
> NHS - also 16, was chosen for the Reaping when he was 12, NMJ immediately volunteered for him and then won  
He picked to be WWX's stylist because of the similarities.
> 
> LXC and JYL have already started planning the wedding
> 
> Thank you to all the readers!!
> 
> I am always at least lurking on @chatonnerie.tumblr.com if you want to check that out

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [told my love to run (so we'd both be free): podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062051) by [VictoriaNotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaNotte/pseuds/VictoriaNotte)


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